In a rare moment of whim,
Lexaeus is downstairs. He has a plate of roast in front of him, a beer next to his gloved hand, and his eye scanning the bar. It's obvious that he's considering something, though what is hard to say.
Carlos, on the other hand, is at the bar itself and he's very much not looking out. Perhaps he's here because he feels
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"You can sit if you like."
He didn't know who it is. He didn't particularly mind either way. Unless it was Zakath and then it didn't matter anyway since Zakath never remembered this place once he'd left.
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"What are you working on?"
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He still didn't look up.
"You're welcome some of the paradoxes in the basket," he offered.
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"And I'm not allowed to play with the weather anymore."
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"The iceage?"
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"I don't know. I just called down a thunderstorm and apparently it set the entire climate into an uproar. I don't really know much about how it works exactly. I have things like this," and he pointed down at the paper, "to deal with, so I let him worry about that."
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"Too long. And I seriously doubt it could stand up to the kind of punishment the Sea of Winds would put it through."
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